Kaleidoscope
by labyrinthine
Summary: Francie, out of the woodwork and into the light.


Title: Kaleidoscope

Author: labyrinthine

E-mail: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com

Summary: Francie, out of the woodwork and into the light.

Rating/Classification: R for language/vignette, pre-ATY

Disclaimer: these characters do not belong to me.

Author's Note: 9:14pm-10:56pm. So, sitting in a concert hall listening to Mozart string concertos, I was inspired to write Francie fic. I have *no idea* how the hell those go together, I prefer to not understand how my mind works most of the time anyway. I just wanted to see if I could do it, write something from a Francie POV, and 2nd person just comes easiest so…there you have it. And it was nice, after weeks of struggling to write even a paragraph for my serious fics, to just write for an hour and a half and see what landed on the page. If it's not your cup of tea, well, stay tuned for angsty things to come from esse publications. Until then, thanks to the AIM group, Jenai for Fran pointers, Thorne for nonlesbian lurve, everyone for the help, Hil on principle because I can't write something and not thank Hil. And Mr Real Job, I'll thank him too. Anyone else want to be thanked? Nonsense, I tell you.

_i'm__ going to ask a blind person_

_what__ beauty looks like_

_then__ maybe i can finally_

_figure__ it out for myself_

_-unravel_

*****

You love rainbows.

Ok, ok, *everybody* loves rainbows. They'd probably lock you away in no time flat if you publicly denounced rainbows. The spontaneity, total happenchance with a spectrum just showing up and dissolving nearly as fast…you'd have to be insane or seriously deranged to not appreciate something like that. The Rainbow Police would come and get you and lock you away.

Rainbow Police, that's great. You crack yourself up sometimes. Will would appreciate that, if he was around to hear it. You need a leash for that boy, no joke. 

But right, rainbows. The colors get you every time, they really do. You went out with this guy once, a while ago, he was bio or physics or something heavy duty like that in college, and he took you to this park after it had rained and this absolutely gorgeous rainbow just came out of nowhere. The guy – damned if you remember his name – started talking, dissecting the rainbow into water particulates and light bouncing off little droplets of moisture. Refraction something or other, at the time you were just psyched that this guy was into rainbows as much as you and foolishly thought it was this great divine sign that you'd found a keeper. You were wrong, of course, but he made you think about rainbows a little more and that alone was worth being dumped the next week for some skinny chick with the IQ of her bust size.

You see colors everywhere. You read up on it once, synthesasia it was called, where people related colors with sounds, smells, really whacked out associations. And you're nowhere near like that, you just…pick up on colors, they make an impact. Like now, as you bend over at an angle that you're gonna pay for tomorrow, leaning for leverage as you wield the steel wool scrubbing the sink. You shouldn't even be doing this, it's not your turn, it's Syd's, but lord knows where that girl is and the sink was getting disgusting. And the more you scrub the more the gleam comes off the stainless steel, the more you can discern your reflection from the shine. 

You like how you look with this silver tint, you've always preferred silver for jewelry. That should have been your first clue, that Charlie wasn't cut out for you: he insisted on gold. Like there was more prestige in gold or whatever, it always peeved you, even though the jewelry he picked was always really pretty. You only wore it around him anyway, and now you have this whole box of gold trinkets you never wear and don't have the heart to give away. The silver engagement ring, you keep – the one time he got it right. But everything else, forget it. 

You prefer not to think of the ring, because the ring makes you think of Charlie, obviously, and there are so many better things to think about than him. Like anything, really, you're not picky. Most of the time, at least. Picky with clothes, of course – a girl's gotta look put together. Nothing too flashy. Muted tones, understatements, there was this guy once who told her she shined so bright on her own, she didn't need to play it up. Or something, you forget, the guy turned out to be a jerk anyway. But he did give nice complements.

Syd would make fun of you, dissing every guy you've gone out with and tell you to stop being so picky. That the right guy would come along when he came along and not before. If she were here, that is, which she is not. She's never home, except to pay her share of the bills and crash whenever she did manage to make it back from a trip. You'd think she never slept on those business trips.

And she looks so pale. Washed-out is not a good color on her, you've told her that more time than you can count and she just laughs at you, or every so often gives you this look, this resigned expression that gives you chills.

Where the hell is she anyway? You can't remember where she said she was going this trip, somewhere oversees maybe? You can't keep that stuff straight anymore – just act happy and supportive when she opens the front door, lugging her overnight, happy to be home. You love her, but there are times you don't think you know her at all.

And now, it seems like you repel everyone away – Will is AWOL, not for the first time either. He's been beyond spacey, the past few times you saw him he was there, only not. And you tell yourself that he's got a life outside your apartment, Syd has a life outside the apartment, and it's not like they're just leaving to get away from you. But you can only tell yourself this so many times before it gets old, and stale, and you were never a fan of being repetitive. 

And you start to wonder. Syd has her career, this thing with the bank, and is a thesis away from finishing grad school. Will is getting into the paper – or that's where you assume he is, since he's never around and sucks at returning calls. Even Charlie, much as it pains you to think about, even he was fast-tracking it to something he wanted from life. 

And where the hell are you in all this? Really. Business school is…business school. Nothing exciting, nothing to look forward to that feels the least compelling. You can't even remember why you signed up for it in the first place – though you remember the application form had the BEST cobalt blue header. Like, the blue was amazing, it made you think about blue shells under designer suits, how put-together you would look as a CEO. 

There must have been more to it than that, you wouldn't make a life altering decision about grad school just because of cobalt blue. You wouldn't. You just can't remember.

But whatever, it doesn't really matter now, you still want out. Everyone looks so polished and with-it and the only time you feel like you sparkle is when you look into the fucking kitchen sink. And really, it's way past time for that to change.

You've been thinking about the restaurant for months, toying around with the idea. You haven't told anyone, of course, you know better than that. You don't think Syd or Will would laugh at you, per se, but…you don't want to appear weak, or confused, someone who doesn't have it all figured out. You need to have it all figured out. And maybe, maybe, the restaurant is just what you need.

Just thinking about it, just picturing it in your head gives this massive rush, too much sensation at once. Total color overload – you can *see* the cobalt blue awnings outside, with the serving napkins to match. Stainless steel sinks that don't have a scratch on them to mar the gleam. And the place you scoped out last week is just perfect, really. It's like everything's falling into place for the first time, it's almost too much to hold in anymore.

You think you'll tell Syd, tomorrow. She's supposed to get back late tonight, you think…you hope. She'll be excited for you, and it will just be so great to have someone to bounce ideas with. You can get Will to help set up – he's good at following orders when you yell at him loud enough. 

And then, for once, things will revolve around you. Syd has her thing, Will has his thing, and now you'll have a thing of your own, too, that's just as important as what they're doing. Your own thing. Francie in charge of herself, and damn if that doesn't have a ring to it. Now all you need is for them to show up and listen.

A kaleidoscope, for the first time, opening up and showing you colors you never imagined. There is so much more than rainbows. 

You'll tell them tomorrow.

*****

Kaleidoscope

elabyrinthine@yahoo.com


End file.
